


waking up and going to sleep again

by Rigil_Kentauris



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Guilt, M/M, Nightmares, POV Third Person, Pre-Slash, Religion, Self-Doubt, Self-Indulgent Worldbuilding, bed sharing, compassion - Freeform, some slight one-sided pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigil_Kentauris/pseuds/Rigil_Kentauris
Summary: Zacharias wakes up from a nightmare. Hríd knows a thing or two about that.





	waking up and going to sleep again

**Author's Note:**

> so aether resorts huh
> 
> you know i said to myself _'im going to edit this before i put it up'_ and then suddenly it was midnight and i was tired so. i guess ill just edit this in the morning. i mean its a rarepair. theres not gonna be a bazillion people rushing the gates to speak i am certain all of yall will forgive me a brief Sleep. bold and spicy of me i know. when this particular message is gone assume the Editing has happened. its only gonig to be minor minor minor, but still.
> 
> anyway i hc hríd as religious, which is i want to say interesting to me, because i am not religious myself, so.  
> any anyway the askrans and zebby are over here like HM YES KILLING EMBLA IS A REASONABLE SOLUTION TO OUR PROBLEMS so i dont even know what. what that counts as.  
> i think it would make hríd be a little **:o** as he tried to balance _'these are my friends and allies i love and respect them'_ with a panicked _'HOOOOOOOMYGOD WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT NO STOP, PLEASE'_.  
> ANY ANY ANYWAY zach introduces himself to hríd as Zacharias but i think hríd would be having a mini heart attack when he finds out there are like. formal roles and things he was supposed to be observing this whole time so hes gone ahead and mentally compromised with prince zacharias. fucked up a perfectly good hríd is what i did. look at him. hes got anxiety.

Prince Zacharias wakes up screaming, but he’s already waving off Hríd’s attention, almost before he’s fully awake, it seems.

“It’s only a nightmare,” he says, softly, but fast. “It’s only a nightmare.”

‘ _Only’ is subjective,_ Hríd thinks.

“Only is subjective,” Hríd decides to say out loud, and untangles himself from the heavy press of his own bedding to cross the thin space between the beds in the inn. Zacharias scoots over the tiniest bit when Hríd sits on the edge, enough to where Hríd could lay down and snuggle beside him, if he so desired.

Hríd smiles, in the moonlit dark. He takes a moment to brighten to low oil lamp on the bedside table before he tucks himself beside the emblian prince.

Zacharias’ breathing is too quick, too light. His voice is wry, but he still trembles, a bit.

“Do tell me,” Zacharias says, “when someone uncovers an _objective_ way to measure dreams, hm.”

“There is, in fact. My people have known it for centuries – it’s called talking.”

Zacharias huffs a brief, broken laugh. ~~~~

“If it’s all the same, I’d prefer not to.”

“Of course.”

Hríd watches the flame in the lamp, while Prince Zacharias silently fights to regain control of his breathing. Hríd has been there many times before, fending off the fading wraith-like wisps of night terrors. Memories of his parents falling to the ice. Memories of his sisters screaming. Memories of the way his own skin smells when it burns and the way fire-lit eyes glow with muted, smoke-laden ferocity.

Memories of waking up knowing he will never be able to go back in time to the moment before he failed to protect those he loves.

Those he loves...like the man who lays quietly beside him, struggling with his own specters of the past.

It’s uncomplicated, for now, and he thinks he prefer it that way. If he fails Zacharias – and he will, he knows, he can’t protect anyone, these days – then he’ll fail Zacharias only as a…

Well, he’s not quite certain what he is to Zacharias, from his point of view. But certainly no one important. Certainly no one the loss of whom would hurt.

No, he will not allow himself to get to close to this man, who has been hurt and betrayed and forsaken so many times before.

...but that doesn’t mean he can’t try to help, where he can.

“I...” he says into the darkness, and then pauses.

The covers rustle a bit as Zacharias scoots away enough so he can roll and turn over. The faint light of the lamp catches the deep, reflective murky blood red of his eyes, flashing against the bolt of citrine gold running through the middle of his left one.

It takes Hríd’s breath away for a second, as it always does. He finds himself scrambling for the prior remains of his thoughts.

“May I pray for you?” he blurts.

Zacharias raises one eyebrow. Further flickers of light refract across his perfect Emblian eyes.

“I just… I wanted to ask, first,” Hríd stammers. “I know… that your relationship to… or rather, that you… I know you don’t have the same belief in faith, as we in Nifl… as _I_ do-”

Amusement tugs at the corner of Zacharias’ very pretty eyes.

“You’re having quite a bit of trouble with this, aren’t you.”

“You and your companions are on a mission to kill a god!” Hríd protests.

“Which implies we inherently must ~~~~believe at least one exists, no?”

The grin has reached Zacharias’ lips. They are quirked upward on one side, a sketch of a smile, a hint of the kind of joy Hríd would die to see on Zacharias’ face for good.

“You’re teasing me,” Hríd realizes.

“Perhaps,” Zacharias allows, before turning back over and burrowing deeper under his covers. When Hríd doesn’t move, Zacharias sticks an arm out and pats around until he finds Hríd’s hand. There’s no hesitation when he links their fingers.

Zacharias’ hands are terribly, terribly warm. The warmth of a blush, the warmth of sunlight. The warmth being of under a blanket. The warmth that is prickling up Hríd’s face as he realizes there is significantly less than usual separating he and the rest of Zacharias’ self.

“Well, go on, if you’re going to do it,” Zacharias tells him, in the dark.

Hríd shakes his head, and tries to think of childhood. Of young nightmares of simple silly things, icicle monsters and being trapped in snowflake castles and the Mud Man who comes to snatch naughty children away in the spring. Of running to the chaplain in tears, welcomed even in the middle of the night, feeling her soothing hand running through his hair and listening to her repeat the melodious wards that would protect him from the worst effects of Niflian dream abilities.

Of Gunnthrá, who had exhibited extraordinary dreamwalking power, whose nightmares had terrified Hríd to even think of, whose nightmares had still had nothing on the hellish fate that had befallen her, eventually…

He sighs, and leans into Zacharias’ touch. The words come slow, dredged up forgotten. He deserves his nightmares. They are a mark of all he failed to stop, and he hasn’t had need of the prayers to stop them in so long.

“ _Nifl...”_ he says slowly, in old, harmonious Niflese. _“_ _Dreams are dreams. They cannot change reality._ _Yet I, who is your child, fears for one who is lost and taken away from your Guidance…”_

 

* * *

 

Hríd is not sure how many repetitions of the long, winding blessing it takes before Zacharias is sleeping beside him. He’s also not sure how many times it takes before Hríd slips into reciting it in his own head, caught up in the loops and rhymes of the language. He’s not sure, but it does happen.

Zacharias’ breathing is deep, and even. Peaceful. The dark of the night no longer hangs oppressive over his head, but instead, seems to embrace him carefully, a helpful thing that will round the edges of fear out and shape them into something confront-able. The fingers clasped around Hríd are looser now, and he thinks he might be able to work himself free without disturbing Zacharias’ rest.

When he goes to try, though, he feels his heart begin to climb back up into his throat, and he feels the familiar awful clotted feeling settling in his stomach. He glances over at his own _abandoned_ bed, and knows the kind of uneasy sleep that awaits him there.

And… well…

Zacharias has found peace in this one night, and as Hríd watches the cover raise and fall gently as the emblian sleeps, he thinks that maybe… _maybe,_ even if he doesn’t think he deserves such a thing yet…

That maybe _deserving_ is subjective, too.

He hesitates, then cautiously wills himself to relax. A hundred battlefield training exercises called to mind as he lets himself simply _be._

He squeezes his eyes close, then gives Zacharias’ hand a light, light squeeze as well.

He thinks of the chaplain. He thinks of Gunnthrá.

Then he gives Nifl one last prayer, for his loved ones always, but this time, also, for himself.

 


End file.
